


Flowers in Her Hair

by valoismarie



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-13 01:57:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14739890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valoismarie/pseuds/valoismarie
Summary: Mary Queen of Scots has been betrothed to Prince Fredrick of Denmark since she was a little girl. When the alliance is suddenly broken, Mary is to leave for France in hopes of securing a new alliance by marrying Francis, the Dauphin of France.





	1. they all mean well

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoy this fic, I'm really excited about this one! I originally started it (and posted it) 4 years ago but I didn't get past chapter 3 and I kind of fell out with writing. But I'm back and hopefully you guys enjoy it!

_they all mean well_

”I wish to take a walk.” Mary announced as she rose from her seat in her chambers; her ladies in waiting rose with her. The book Mary was reading falls closed as she places it on her desk amongst the many letters she had received from her mother, Marie De Guise.

The air outside is humid and Mary’s corset feels tight in the summer heat, but anything was better than being inside that castle. Life at Danish Court isn’t what she’d ever thought her life there would be—or at least how she’d hoped it would be—Mary had always thought it would be full of excitement and life. How wrong her assumptions had been. King Christian and Queen Dorothea had always been warm and welcoming and as a child Mary had always turned to Queen Dorothea, taking to her like a mother in the absence of her own—but as her 14th birthday neared the court had become less friendly and more anxious, more impatient. It almost felt like the Danish Court were growing angry at how slow Mary was ageing, as if it was her fault that she wasn’t yet 14. The once grand and welcoming castle had grown cold and dark; the thought of living out her days in such a place made Mary’s heart sink. This wasn’t the life she had hoped for, but she kept her chin high and her heart open to Prince Frederick because Queens didn’t have the luxury of choosing their life partners. Royals simply married for alliances, to strengthen their countries and make their realm that much more powerful.

"Your Majesty." Mary turned to see a servant approaching her, bowing politely before folding her hands in front of her and waiting to be spoken to by the Queen of Scotland.

"Yes?" She tilted her head slightly, waiting for the servant to speak.

"Your Grace, your Uncle is here to see you. He has brought some important news, he is waiting for you in the Throne Room." She saw her Uncle, stood at the window overlooking the vast gardens of the Danish Court. They were beautifully kept and stunning on a warm summers day, but her Uncle hadn’t travelled from France to admire the Danish gardens; that much she knew.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mary’s Uncle turned to her as she entered the Throne Room, bowing in respect before walking to her and placing his hands on either side of her face.

“Why Mary you have grown into such a beautiful young girl, almost a woman. I cannot believe it has been almost 2 years since I saw you last. I am disappointed our reunion is on such unpleasant terms.” She smiled politely, taking her Uncle’s hands in her own.

“Uncle, it is wonderful to see you, but I regret this being in such unfortunate circumstances. Please, tell me of your troubles.” Mary led them back to the window over-looking the gardens, nodding her head for her Uncle to begin.

“I’m afraid it is not my troubles that have brought me here today, Your Grace. Prince Frederick has voiced his interest in another woman to become his wife, she is titled and noble enough for him to marry and he needs to marry as soon as he can. I’m sad to say this, Mary but King Christian is becoming ill and the court advisers worry of Prince Frederick becoming King without a wife beside him.” Mary didn’t falter, she didn’t waver. If the Prince had lost interest in her this meant she could return home, but it also meant Scotland was now weak with no alliance to stop the English from attacking the Scottish border.

“The King has agreed to the marriage of Prince Frederick and Lady Sophie of Mecklenburg-Güstrow. She is a descendant of King James of Denmark. The King and your mother have spoken; your mother has agreed to end the alliance. I’m afraid this means you won’t be marrying Prince Frederick but instead you will return to Scotland in the next few days until your mother secures you another husband.” ——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

The next few days passed in a blur of packing, discussions with her Uncle over the finalities of the alliance ending with Denmark and brief and uncomfortable conversations with Prince Frederick. Mary was glad when all her things were packed and loaded onto the carriage which would take her to her Scottish boat, her transport back home. Her home. The fear of the English attacking the Scottish border was weighing on her chest—a feeling that had been present from the moment her Uncle had told her the alliance with Denmark was broken—but the excitement of returning home to her country, to her people, to her mother almost made the weight of war on her chest disappear; but only almost. The weight was always there, a constant feeling of worry and panic threatening to rise into her throat and strangle her of all her oxygen.

Mary’s Uncle stood waiting for her outside her carriage, bowing as she approached him.

“Your Grace, are you ready for the long journey?” Her Uncle asked as he held her hand while she boarded the carriage.

“The journey I am not looking forward to but returning home to Scotland is what I am most excited for.” Mary looked out the window as the carriage pulled off, her heart a little lighter now she was free of the unwelcoming Danish Court.

“Mary, I’m afraid there has been a change of plan. You won’t be returning to Scotland, your mother fears it too dangerous. If the English learn of your return they will attack our borders in full force and attack the castle, ultimately taking you and your mother hostage.” Mary tore her attention away from the scenery of Denmark to meet her Uncle’s eyes with her own disappointed ones.

“Your mother has arranged for you to stay the summer at French Court at King Henry II and Queen Catherine’s favour. If things go as we hope you will be engaged to the Dauphin by fall and married on your birthday.” Her Uncle turned his attention to the scenery—like Mary had been doing before—effectively ending their conversation.

France? Marry the Dauphin? This was just what Scotland needed but Mary had hoped with all her heart she’d be able to return to Scotland even if it was just for a few fleeting days; but Mary was the Queen of Scotland and Queen’s did not have the luxury of choosing their life partners. Queen’s didn’t have the luxury of anything but pretty dresses.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

“Your Grace, we’re here.” Mary opened her eyes, her lids still heavy with sleep. The boat ride had been long and tedious, the seas particularly rough which prevented her from having any rest or very little of it—so she had slept the entire ride from the docks to the castle. Mary looked out the window to see the scenery; she’d heard much about the beauty of France. The landscapes so beautiful it could take your breath away.

“It is stunning.” Mary whispered almost forgetting why she was being brought to France. _You must secure the alliance with France, Mary. It is your duty as the Queen of Scotland._ Her mother’s words rang in her ear, she had written to her the day her Uncle had come to visit her, the arrival of her mother’s letter had fallen on the day of her departure from Denmark. _Prince Frederick has been looking for a new wife for almost a year; the alliance with Denmark hasn’t been secure for some time. I have been in contact with King Henry II of France for a few months so don’t let my hard work go to waste. Scotland needs this._

“You have met Prince Francis, have you not Uncle? Are the rumours true? Is he short and sickly? Does he speak with a stutter?” Her Uncle laughed, shaking his head.

“You ask an awful lot of questions, Your Grace. Prince Francis is a very healthy young man and perfectly well proportioned.” Mary’s worries weren’t quite satisfied; Prince Frederick was tall and in good health. He wasn’t the most handsome man Mary had ever been in the company of, but he would have made a good husband—much better than a sickly, short Prince with a stutter.

“And his stutter, Uncle?” Mary pressed further, her Uncle’s expression turned impatient as her incessant questions began to anger him.

“There are many rumours about royals, it would do you good to not listen to such nonsense.” The door to the carriage opened then; their footman standing guard as her Uncle left the carriage, stepping out into the hot summer air of beautiful France.


	2. a queen any king would kill for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here comes Francis!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned to wait at least 3 days before posting the next chapter but I'm loving writing this story and I wanted everyone to meet Francis and Bash. Their broship is definitely becoming one of my favourite parts of this story. Enjoy!

_a queen any king would kill for_

Mary stepped out of the carriage, her eyes squinting against the harsh sun. Two French ladies-in-waiting were stood waiting for her, they curtsied before rushing to straighten out her dress, she had to be impeccable because she was a Queen—maybe one day the Queen the France if she secured the alliance with the Dauphin just like her mother wanted. Once the creases of her long journey were smoothed out of her dress she moved to stand at her Uncle’s side.

  
The castle staff were lined up either side of a narrow concrete path that was also decorated with red flags, their colour swaying in the light breeze—offering a small relief of the blazing sun that was beating down on Mary’s back.

  
The sound of the Herald’s voice echoed over the extensive grounds of the French Court.

  
“Her Majesty, Mary Queen of Scots.” That was Mary’s cue, she began to walk gracefully down the concrete path as the sound of the trumpets hurt her ears, blasting relentlessly. It was known that the French enjoyed showing off their wealth and power so the grand entrance they had given to Mary wasn’t something unexpected. The line of castle staff began to disappear and there she saw King Henry II alongside Queen Catherine—their faces weren’t welcoming nor cold; it was more of a stoic look, like they were unfazed by the presence of a Queen.

  
“Your Grace I present to you His Majesty King Henry II of France, Her Majesty Queen Catherine of France and His Royal Highness Prince Francis II the Dauphin of France.” Mary curtsied, her eyes lowering to the floor as she did so. When she rose, she nodded politely as they offered their bows and curtsies in return.

  
That’s when she saw him, the sun’s rays reflecting off his blonde curls—Prince Francis II, the Dauphin of France. He was neither short nor sickly but tall and handsome; maybe on the skinny side but handsome. Her cheeks heated slightly, her gaze on him wavering.

  
“Queen Mary.” Mary took her gaze off Francis to give her attention to the King. “I present to you my son, Francis and hopefully your future husband.”

  
Francis bowed before holding her gaze. “Your Grace, I hope you feel welcome here at French Court.” He didn’t miss how beautiful she was, her chocolate brown eyes holding his gaze. The beauty in her pale milk skin, the slight blush on her cheeks from the summer heat.

  
“Your Royal Highness, it is an honour to be spending the summer months here at French Court. I am sure I will enjoy my time here, thank you for your kindness.” Mary gave him a smile polite enough for a first meeting and he nodded in return, holding out his hand for her to take.

  
——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

  
“Your Highness, Sebastian De Poitiers.” Francis nodded at his Page and seconds later Francis’ half-brother—Bash—entered his chambers.

  
“Ah, dear little brother please tell me you are not doing boring matters of state business in here?” Francis laughed and rolled his eyes, lucky bastard. Bash could do whatever he wanted, go where ever he pleased because no one worried about him dying or being captured because he wasn’t the heir to the throne or of any royal status. Just the King’s bastard son. Sometimes—all the time—Francis was jealous of the life Bash led.

  
“Spoken like a true bastard of a King. It may be boring to you but it’s important matters of state, our father has let me write a letter of negotiation to the Italian King, this is a big thing for him to entrust in me.” He knew Bash didn’t understand the importance of these things, he knew Bash cared more for riding his horses and hunting animals in the woods then what was happening in France. Francis didn’t blame him, it wasn’t his burden to share but sometimes he resented how carefree and unfazed Bash could be.

  
“Yes, I know, it is all very important, but you can be so uptight and serious. You need to loosen up sometimes, you are not the King yet.” Bash swiped an apple from Francis’ table and leaned against the desk where Francis was writing his letter to the Italian King. “I saw your beautiful bride-to-be when she arrived yesterday. She cuts quite the figure in her dress.” Francis scoffed.

  
“She is not my bride and she could have your head for that comment you just made. Be careful, Bash. I beg of you.” Francis rose from his seat at his desk, handing his brother the letter. “Give this to father’s Chancellor, let him know I want to be notified on any changes he might wish to make.”

  
Bash gave Francis a wink and a slap on the arm before heading for the door—he stopped short with his hand on the doorknob. “Try not to be so disappointed about the Queen of Scots’ presence here at court, it’s rather impolite and I don’t think father would approve if you made her feel unwelcome here.” Francis waved his hand, signalling Bash to leave. God damn him.  
————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

  
Francis announced his presence to the Page stationed outside Mary’s chambers—he folded his arms behind his back and waited for the Page to announce him to Mary.

  
“You may enter, Your Highness.” Francis nodded his thanks and entered Mary’s chambers. Francis bowed before approaching her.

  
“There is a festival being thrown in your honour tonight and I have come to ask if you would do me the pleasure of attending the festival by my side?” He watched as a small smile spread across her face, it made a weird feeling tickle the inside of his stomach, but he pushed it away—it was probably the pressure of trying to please his father by making Mary feel welcome.

  
Mary rose from her seat at her reading table, closing her book and setting it aside. Prince Frederick had never asked her to accompany him to any royal festivities in her entire time she spent at Danish Court. The stark differences between Frederick and Francis were beginning to show; another odd gesture was that Francis had come to her chambers himself and had not sent word through his servants or her ladies-in-waiting. Frederick never spoke to her directly.

  
“I would be honoured to accompany you to the festival, Your Highness.” She examined him as he stood by her desk, all blonde hair and long legs—his crystal blue eyes fixed on her face, the sun creating an allusion of his crystal eyes sparkling, like light reflecting off a lake. She shifted slightly, her gaze dropping from his before clearing her throat.

“If that is everything you have come to ask me, you may leave.” She watched as he nodded in agreement, exiting her chambers as quickly as he had entered.


	3. we've positioned ourselves for the worst kind of pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this might be my favourite chapter, you really start to see Francis and Bash's friendship and a bit of Mary's temper too. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

_we've positioned ourselves for the worst kind of pain_

Mary stood still as one of her ladies-in-waiting finished doing up the laces of the corset that sat on top of her tunic—she dazed off as the tedious job of getting dressed was finished. Mary had explored the castle after Francis had left her chambers and she had found how beautiful yet haunting the French castle was. The guards eyed her suspiciously while the servants whispered and giggled behind their hands as she passed them. Her life at Danish Court had been much of the same towards the end, Mary was beginning to think she wasn’t welcome anywhere.

“Your Grace are you okay?” Mary snapped out of her thoughts and nodded in answer.

“Quite well, thank you. Have you finished with my corset?” The servant nodded in answer to Mary’s question, Mary smiled and waved her hand for them to leave. She could finish getting herself ready.

Mary looked at her dress—the underlayer was beige in colour but the top layer was a white floral lace. The most beautiful piece of the dress was the diamond encrusted belt, the diamonds glinted in the sun—making them look even more dazzling.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————--

“Your Majesty, the Dauphin is here to escort you down to the festival.” Mary’s Page announced, she waved her hand to signal the Page to let Francis into her chambers.

“Are you ready to leave for the festival, Your Grace?” Francis asked as he entered the Queen’s chambers, but he stopped short when his eyes fell upon her. She looked stunning, a vision in white—and the crown of red roses on her head made him smile.

“Yes, Your Highness.” She replied, placing her hand on top of his as they left her chambers. Francis was a handsome boy, his blonde hair and blue eyes did him favours—but the red coat made him seem more of a man, more like a soon-to-be King. She smiled to herself, secretly happy that somehow, they had managed to match their attire. Her crown of red roses was a subtle match to his bold red coat. —————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————--

The festival was in full swing, the servants busy attending to the needs of all the royals and nobles in attendance—and all the royals and nobles well on their way to a headache the next morning. The contrast between the French festivals and the Danish festivals were almost laughable; at Danish Court everybody was reserved and talked in polite quiet tones while sipping small amounts of wine. French Court was full of nobles falling over their own feet and laughing a bit too loudly, everybody was dancing and drinking far too much.

“Your Majesty.” Mary turned to see one of her ladies-in-waiting, she curtsied, and Mary nodded for her to speak.

“The King has asked for an audience with you, he waits by the lake with Lady Diane.” Her lady-in-waiting hurried off then, Mary followed her figure to find she stopped beside a man—a noble looking man—at least her ladies were having some fun.

Mary made her way over to where the King waited with his mistress, they looked deep in conversation. The King was tenderly stroking Diane’s cheek; a genuine smile on his face. The happiness radiated off them in waves, Mary almost felt like she was intruding on an intimate moment.

“Your Majesty, you wished to see me.” She announced herself before curtsying, her gaze catching that of Francis’—who stood off to the left of his father, talking to a pretty blonde girl who seemed to be smiling rather too widely for Mary’s liking.

“Yes, Mary, I have been informed that your ladies-in-waiting from Scotland should be arriving from the docks tomorrow afternoon.” The King nodded his head and before Mary could see who he was nodding to she felt Francis’ presence beside her.

“Francis will accompany you to greet them in the palace courtyard.” The King took Diane’s hand then and led her further towards the lake.

“Would you care to dance, Your Grace?” Francis saw her eyes lingering on her father—and although he knew it was more because of the happiness his father and Diane radiated it still unnerved him. He watched Mary’s eyes snap back to him and the little spark in them made his own lips tug up into a smile. He led her towards the makeshift dance floor where a few noble couples danced.

“How is it that a Dauphin isn’t already betrothed?” Mary asked as she and Francis danced, her eyes trained to his face for any signs of another woman he may have loved—or may still love.

“I was betrothed to a noble girl with a substantial dowry, but my father thought it best I trade in a great dowry for a great kingdom.” As soon as the words left his mouth Francis knew he shouldn’t have said it—Mary was a guest here at the King’s favour. Making a guest of the King’s feel unwelcome wasn’t the kind of thing his father would be pleased to hear.

“Your father thought it best? I assume by your tone you do not wish to marry me.” Mary’s defences came flying up, the Danish Court was unwelcoming, but no one ever said she was unwanted to her face. The strange feeling of rejection started to seep through her like water through a garment—her stomach felt uneasy, but she wouldn’t run away upset or in tears. She was a Queen and she would not let a Prince tell her she was not wanted.

“I apologise, Your Grace. I did not mean to offend you.” He was stupid, completely and utterly stupid—the last thing France needed was to offend Scotland’s Queen even if Scotland’s army were weak and small in comparison to the French—it still would not be wise to make an enemy out of Scotland.

“No. Please, speak freely. I would like to know what you think of the matter. Why the Prince of France resents my presence at French Court.” Mary whipped her gaze back to Francis, the fury in her eyes evident.

“I do not resent your presence here, Your Grace. Please, accept my apology. France does not wish to become Scotland’s enemy.” Francis could see the anger in her eyes, the once warm chocolate brown eyes seemed to shine brightly with white hot anger.

“No, you do not wish to become Scotland’s enemy, but you do not wish to become her ally either. I command you as a Queen to tell me your reasons, speak freely.” Mary’s voice came out in a hiss, her emotions running high—her anger beginning to get the better of her. _You need to control your anger, it gets you into trouble Mary._ Her mother’s words began ringing in her ears. _You must keep your anger at bay, Queen’s do not lose their tempers._

“Scotland is under constant threat, Your Grace. The English are always sending their troops to your border, pushing for a reaction. I do not think France would benefit from an alliance with Scotland, the risk of our men losing their lives to defend your country is too high.” Francis’ gaze wandered over the gardens of the French Court, he could feel the anger pulsating off Mary and he began to feel uncomfortable—he knew he’d not only angered her but upset her and it wasn’t sitting well with him. Suddenly he felt her pull away from him, effectively stopping their dancing.

“I’m sorry you think of Scotland as a potential noose around your neck. Rest assured I know where I am not wanted and for both our sakes I hope your father agrees against this marriage.” Mary turned and left the dance floor, leaving Francis stood there on his own.

Damn him! Damn him and his opinions. Damn herself and her temper. Scotland needed the alliance with France to stop the English from overthrowing her and taking her crown for themselves—but of course her anger could have completely destroyed her chance at securing the safety of her country and its people.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————--

Francis left the dance floor feeling crestfallen and pissed off—why did he ever open his mouth? He left the festival in search of his brother, finding him outside the stables nursing a mug of wine.

“Why hello there little brother, I thought you were escorting the Queen of Scots to the festival?” Bash shouted as he saw Francis approaching—he noticed the sulky expression on his brother’s face and a smile lit up his own face.

“You ruined it, didn’t you?”

“Shut up, Bash!” Francis growled, snatching Bash’s mug of wine from his hands—throwing his head back and chugging the wine down. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before letting out a moan of annoyance.

“What did you do? Make an inappropriate remark about her breasts or did you open your big mouth and tell her of your dislike towards the alliance.” Francis shoved his brothers arm, effectively sending him tripping over his own feet and almost landing on the floor.

“I think the comment on her breasts may have done less damage. What have I done?” Francis groaned, pulling at his hair as he began to pace. The repercussions of this could be terrible, especially when his father found out. Mary had looked so angry, if it had not been at his expense Francis would have found her anger to be endearing.

“You definitely should have said something about her breasts.”

“Shut up!” Francis growled, storming off towards the castle with his brother’s laugh echoing behind him.


	4. what matters is whats right for my country

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter you kind of start to see Francis' guard start to come down a little and his feelings for Mary begin to seep through which, of course, Francis won't admit ;) Enjoy!

_what matters is whats right for my country_

Mary took a deep breath and smoothed down her crimson dress as she walked along the castle corridor—her footsteps echoing against the stone floors and walls. She hadn’t seen Francis since their argument at the festival yesterday and to say she was nervous would be an understatement.

“Your Grace, the Dauphin is waiting for you in the Throne Room.” Mary nodded to the female servant and walked passed her towards the large oak doors of the Throne Room. Mary momentarily closed her eyes before composing herself and opening the door.

“Your Royal Highness, Mary Queen of Scots” The Page bowed after announcing Mary’s presence and quietly left the room.

The silence was so loud it was deafening. Francis kept his gaze firmly looking out of the stain glassed window, his posture rigid. He could feel the tension in the room as soon as Mary walked in, he only hoped her anger had calmed down from yesterday.

“Your Grace” Francis turned around, bowing before moving towards where Mary stood next to the door.

Mary didn’t know what to do or to say. She felt a fool for letting her anger get the best of her, but her feelings were still hurt by Francis’ words. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when Francis spoke first, she bowed in response before lifting her eyes to meet his. She could see the regret in his eyes but that still didn’t change his opinions.

“Shall we go and meet my ladies now?” Mary turned towards the door and waited for Francis to appear beside her. She couldn’t help but notice how he didn’t move to take her hand like he had yesterday before the festival, that made her heart sink a little.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mary watched as the carriage bearing the French standard rode into the courtyard. She noticed how the turn out of servants and Royal Family members were considerably less than to her own arrival but nevertheless Mary couldn’t wait to see her friends, it had been far too long. Mary wasn’t allowed her Scottish ladies-in-waiting at Danish Court, so it was a wonderfully kind gesture from King Henry and one Mary wouldn’t let go by unnoticed—she would thank him later.

The carriage came to a holt and the door opened before four beautiful young ladies began to descend the carriage steps—helped by the footman.

“Your Highnesses I present to you, Lady Lola, Lady Kenna, Lady Greer and Lady Aylee.” All four girls bowed in front of Mary and Francis, excited smiles lighting up their faces. Mary couldn’t contain her excitement any longer and rushed forward to hug all four of them at once.

“You don’t know how much I have missed you!” Mary could feel tears escaping her eyes and wetting Greer’s blonde hair.

“We’ve missed you too, Mary!” Kenna sobbed, clutching onto Mary’s dress.

Francis stood in shock at how informal Mary was being with her ladies-in-waiting. He knew she was close to them when they were children and that once she was shipped off to Denmark she wasn’t allowed to bring them with her, but still. The realisation came to him then—Mary didn’t have anyone at court and from what Marie De Guise had written to his father, she didn’t have anyone all those years at Danish court either. Francis suddenly felt ashamed for the way he spoke to Mary yesterday and how unwelcome he must have made her feel especially since Mary was nothing but kind.

“Ladies, I would like you to meet Francis, Dauphin of France.” Mary’s voice snapped Francis out of his thoughts and he smiled politely as the four girls curtseyed.

“I hope you enjoy your stay here at court. There is a dinner followed by dancing in the Great Hall as we have a few nobles visiting, please have Queen Mary ready for 6pm.” Mary went to turn to her friends but before she could get a word out Francis gently touched her arm.

“Mary, please may I speak to you.” He looked over at the ladies-in-waiting. “Alone.”

“Ladies, please take your things and get settled in your quarters. I will meet you in one hour in my chambers. Thank you.” All four ladies gave Mary a smirk before hurrying off to find their new rooms.

“Yes, Your Highness.” Mary smiled politely at Francis, trying not to show how nervous and awkward she felt now she was alone with him.

“I just wanted to apologise for what I said yesterday. I wasn’t trying to offend you and I’m deeply sorry if what I said caused you any hurt.” Mary could tell his apology was sincere and she wanted so badly to smooth this over and move on, but the more Francis apologised and looked at her with those sad eyes, the more his words from yesterday hurt.

“I accept your apology, Your Highness. Now I must go and meet my ladies, so we can begin the great task of getting ready for tonight.” Mary gave a half-hearted smile and turned to leave but Francis’ hand once again caught her wrist. She didn’t realise quite how close he was to her until she looked up. Mary’s eyes caught his and again she was taken away by the deep sparkling blue of them.

“You can call me Francis.” He could smell her, he was so close he could smell her scent. She smelt like flowers on a warm summers evening and it made him want to lean in closer, to commit that smell to memory.

“You can call me Mary.” She didn’t dare speak any louder than a whisper in fear of shattering the moment they were sharing. He was so close she could see a faint scar above his eyebrow, it shimmered in the sunlight.

He didn’t know how long they stood with his hand on her wrist and their faces so close they were almost touching foreheads, but he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to move.

“Francis! Father is looking for you!” The annoying yell of his half-brother came barrelling across the castle courtyard and it shocked Mary so much that she jumped away from Francis.

“I have to go. I will see you at dinner.” Mary mumbled before hurrying off in the direction of her chambers. Francis watched after her, still in a daze of flowers on a warm summers evening.

“I’m sorry did I interrupt something?” Francis turned around to see Bash’s smirk.

“You interrupted an apology for my behaviour yesterday at the festival.” Francis explained, starting to walk off towards his father’s private rooms—suddenly very aware of the moment him and Mary had just shared.

“Oh, my mistake. I didn’t realise it was custom to apologise stood so close together.” Bash jogged to keep up with Francis’ long strides.

“Don’t you have a horse to ride or something?” Francis muttered, his brother’s know-it-all tone was really starting to annoy him.

“Admit it, you like her. You didn’t want to, but you do and it’s driving you insane. How devastingly romantic, torn between your heart and your duty.” Bash dramatically put both hands to his heart and made a loud wistful sigh.

“I don’t like her! I felt guilt for being rude yesterday, so I apologised! It’s not up to me whether I marry Mary, it’s up to our father. There’s no use being unwelcoming, it’ll only upset father. Now go and do whatever it is bastards do!”


	5. when it is right for france

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated but I've rewrote this chapter at least 3 times. This chapter is quite angsty but bare with me, it'll get better soon. Enjoy!

_when it is right for france_

It had been a few days since the dinner for the noblemen who were visiting from Italy and Spain—it had been a lovely dinner with wonderful food and pleasant dancing, but Mary couldn’t stop thinking about the moment her and Francis had shared in the palace courtyard. He’d been at the dinner, but he’d been busy attending to the visiting nobility—especially the Italians as the King had made those men Francis’ duty for the duration of their stay.

Tomorrow was the day the noblemen would set off for their home countries which of course meant there would be another event to mark their departure. There would be a picnic in the palace gardens tomorrow afternoon before the noblemen left that evening—Mary was to meet her ladies this afternoon for a dress fitting.

As Mary walked about the gardens now, admiring the men as they set up the tents and decorations for tomorrow, she failed to notice the blonde girl walking towards her.

“Your Grace?” Mary snapped out of her thoughts to find the blonde girl from the festival stood before her.

“Hello. And you are?”

“Olivia D’Amencourt, Your Grace.” Olivia. Even her name was beautiful.

“Olivia. That’s a very beautiful name. You’re a friend of Francis’, correct?” Olivia looked taken aback by Mary’s question and she paused a moment before answering.

“Yes, we’ve known each other since we were small.” Mary could feel the jealously niggling at her—she knew it to be ridiculous, but she couldn’t help it.

“Yes, I saw you at the festival with Francis. You seem to make him laugh.” Mary knew she sounded petty, but the words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Ah—yes well—He and I—We have known each other quite a long time, Your Grace.”

“So, you’ve said and how is it that you know one another?” Mary could sense Olivia’s hesitation and she didn’t miss the colour of her cheeks darken considerably.

“We were to be wed.” Mary felt the jealousy start to bubble in her stomach and she clenched her fists at her sides and thought carefully about what she said next.

“Ah, so you’re the girl with the great dowry.”

Your Grace—I—We, Francis and I—It’s not.” Olivia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When her eyes opened again they were clear blue but nervous.

“We’d been engaged since birth. My father is Lord D’Amencourt and he’s a very wealthy French noble. King Henry and my father have been friends since they were born, and my father has always been King Henry’s most treasured confidant. When Francis and I were born King Henry and Queen Catherine were still in the early stages of their marriage and madly in love. King Henry thought it best Francis follow in his footsteps and marry a woman with considerable wealth rather than marry a woman for her country.” Olivia focused her eyes on Mary’s, hoping she was getting her point across.

“On my 5th birthday I was moved here to French Court and from there Francis and I formed a bond and became fast friends. We both knew one day we would be married and while we knew we were lucky to be marrying someone we considered our friend—neither of us were in love.” Mary didn’t know what to say, part of her was relived there was no love between them but another part of her was jealous for the history they shared—jealous of their friendship.

“A year ago, my father received word from his friends in Denmark that the King was sick and was worried about his son being unmarried when he took the throne. My father informed King Henry of this and so King Henry wrote to your mother. My father agreed that it would be better for France to have a Queen marry the Dauphin than a rich titled girl with no power. I am now to be married to a Duke from England and I will be wed in exactly 3 months.”

“And your father is not mad that the alliance has been broken?”

“God no! He would much rather advance France than his own daughter. Francis is a good man and I care for him deeply, but we are friends and that’s it. He would have married me had his father requested it and if he felt it right for his country, that’s just who he his.” Olivia couldn’t know that Francis didn’t think it right for France to marry Mary but if they were such close friends as Olivia had said then he would have told her his feelings. Wouldn’t he?

“Yes, I know all about Francis and what he feels is right for his country.”

“Your Grace, may I speak freely.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Francis will always put France first, there’s not much Francis won’t do for his country because it’s his duty and he takes that very seriously. Scotland is a great ally for France, but Francis feels a strong connection to his troops and a great responsibility for their lives, if he were to send them out to be killed then he would feel that grief so intensely that it would consume him.” Olivia moved forward to rest her hand on Mary’s arm.

“Francis told me that he upset you when he told you his opinions, he felt terrible for that and believe me when I say it is very rare Francis will feel guilty for telling someone what he felt—in his heart—was right. A lot of what Francis thinks is right for this country comes from his father. King Henry is a great King, and Francis wants so badly to do his father proud that he models himself after him in a lot of ways.”

Mary knew Olivia meant well—that she was trying to do a kind thing for Francis and for her, but all Mary could think about was how Francis’ opinions on their union came from the King. Why was she here if the King felt the union between his son and herself wasn’t right for France?

“I thank you for your kind words, Olivia but I must be on my way to my chambers.” Mary nodded as Olivia gave a polite smile in return and moved to walk past Mary.

“Do you know where I could find the King?” Mary asked before Olivia had walked too far away.

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“Your Majesty. Queen Mary is here to see you.” King Henry turned from Francis and his advisors to face his Page.

“Please tell Queen Mary that I am currently busy with affairs of state. I will send for her once I have finished.” The Pages cheeks flushed bright red and he lowered his eyes to the floor.

“Your Grace. I already told Queen Mary you were busy, but she was quite insistent and told me to tell you she will not leave until you see her.”

“Very well.” King Henry forced a smile and turned to his advisers. “Gentlemen. Could you please go through into the next room, this won’t take a moment” Francis started to walk out with the other men, but his fathers voice called him back.

“She might be your wife one day, you can stay for this.” King Henry gestured to his Page to allow Mary to enter.

“Your Grace.” King Henry walked to Mary, a small smile gracing his lips.

“Your Majesty.” Mary curtsied politely. “I apologise for this intrusion, but it is a matter of urgency.”

“Then please, do tell.” Henry watched as her eyes flickered to Francis before coming back to him and locking with his own eyes, he saw the soft brown turn to steel and Henry knew exactly what she was going to say.

“It has been brought to my attention that the union between myself and your son is not something you desire.” Mary saw Francis stiffen from the corner of her eye, yet the King remained relaxed and a smile stayed on his lips.

“Your Grace. There is a lot to consider in this union, it is not as simple as two people getting married—it is two nations and it is important that this union is the right thing for both of our countries.”

“You do not need to patronise me, Your Majesty. I am a Queen, by birth right and I have been Queen since I was a baby. What is right for Scotland is that I marry a future King, that I marry a country that can defend it against the English.”

“You’re Queen to a country you haven’t set foot in since you were 6 years old. While that isn’t your fault and I applaud you on sticking it out at Danish court for all those years, you do not know what is best for a country. Especially not France.” Mary could feel the tears burning her eyes, but the King’s harsh words would not defeat her.

“I am aware you think Scotland would be a noose around France’s neck. Francis made that perfectly clear upon my arrival at court—however I cannot waste my time here if there is no promise of a marriage. Scottish lives are at stake. There must be something Scotland can offer you. We have wood, gun powder, war ships, crops—”

“All those things are useless without men! Why would I want wood, gun powder, war ships or food if I have no men to use those things? I will not send my men to be slaughtered at your borders”

“It’s not just my men being killed! The English don’t just kill my men they kill innocent families, innocent women and children. They burn down villages, farms, livestock! You won’t send your men who signed up to risk their lives, but you will sit back and let innocent Scottish people be murdered!”

“My men signed up to put their lives on the line for France, not for Scotland!”

“I see. Well, all I ask if that you write to my mother and ask her to arrange another marriage for me as this one seems to be finished.” Mary didn’t give the King time to answer before she left the room.

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Francis wasn’t sure what had just happened—it was a blur of loud voices and angry tones. All he could focus on was Mary, she looked heartbroken and lost.

“I’ll be right back.” Francis mumbled before hurrying out the door after Mary.

He found her at the end of the corridor, staring out one of the windows that faced the garden, men still putting up decorations ready for the picnic tomorrow.

“Mary.”

“Don’t! Do not try and apologise or smooth over what just happened.” Mary wiped away the tears that had spilled over onto her cheeks. “Olivia introduced herself to me today.” She turned to face Francis, noting the look of surprise on his face. “She told me she was once to be married to you—the future Queen of France but your father called it off once he got wind of me and Denmark. Explain to me how your father would throw away Olivia’s dowry and send for me to spend the summer here if he doesn’t intend on us being wed?”

“He’s waiting for Scotland to become useful.” Francis went to reach for Mary’s hand, but she pulled back.

“So, he won’t write to my mother like I asked?”

“No. You’re to stay here till the end of the summer, a decision will be made then.”

“What if I write to my mother? What if I tell her what your father just told me?”

“Your mother knows Scotland isn’t a good move for France.”

“Then why am I here!”

“There’s been word that Queen Mary I of England has fallen ill and that she is frail and may not make it to see fall. My father is hoping that when she dies that you will lay claim to the English throne.”

“My cousin Elizabeth is the heir to the English throne.”

“England is majorly made up of the Catholic faith and they don’t want the country to fall back into Protestant rule. The Catholics also believe Elizabeth to be bastard born and believe King Henry VIII’s marriage to Anne Boleyn to be void which makes you the rightful heir to the English throne.”

“What if I lay my claim to the English throne but my cousin still takes the crown? She will attack Scotland in full force and will try to over throw me! She will kidnap my mother and she will use that to force me back into Scotland, so she can take my crown!”

“Your mother has already agreed to you claiming England.” Francis could see Mary was distressed—he wanted so badly to reach out and calm her down but every time he reached for her she pulled away.

“My mother would never risk my life like this, or hers! She knows if Elizabeth got word of this then her first act as Queen would be to take her!” Mary clenched her first to her stomach—she could feel the bile rising into her throat and the panic starting to clutch at her chest.

“Mary, please calm down!”

“Calm down! Our parents are risking my life and my country out of greed! All your father wants is to advance France and he doesn’t care who or what he destroys in the process! And you! You knew this entire time what the plan was, and you just stayed quiet, never said a word!” Mary turned on Francis, her eyes full of tears and white-hot anger. She took a few strides until she was so close to him she could hear his heart hammering in his chest.

“You knew, and you didn’t tell me.” Mary’s voice changed to a whisper.

“I will not lay my claim to England. I will not risk the lives of my people or my crown for the gain of your father.” Mary straightened out her dress and wiped away her tears. “I will write to my mother and I will tell her that I refuse to be apart of this dangerous plot—please tell your father the same.”


End file.
